


When I'm laid to my rest

by orphan_account



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Illusions, M/M, Nightmares, Visions of N'Zoth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wrathion was no fool. He knew this was a trick, a delusion: His own mind couldn’t be trusted within the realm of dreams.
Relationships: Wrathion & Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	When I'm laid to my rest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Temptations From N'zoth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343407) by [tinycrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycrown/pseuds/tinycrown). 



“Wrathion.” A familiar voice sighed in the dark.

A voice that shouldn’t be here...he couldn't be here. His presence surely was a new form of torment. Accompanying the voice was a suspiciously soothing warmth, enveloping his resting form. The scent of soil after a healthy spring’s rain filled his nostrils. A breeze was whispering bountiful nothings in his ears. He could feel the sun’s rays kissing his skin, warming him, but not as warm as the form next to him.

Without opening his eyes, the dragon knew exactly where this nightmare had taken him. The Corruptor was defiling his few remaining pleasant memories; tormenting the dragon; slowly but surely breaking his spirit.

“Wrathion.” The sweet voice repeated.

He was no fool. The dragon knew this was a trick, a delusion: his mind couldn’t be trusted within the realm of dreams. This was just an imitation of the voice’s owner. N’Zoth was likely introducing him into the nightmares, as the original was a recent interaction. The memory was fresh in his head; easiest to contaminate and remodel.

He could feel the duplicate’s arms around his form, holding him delicately. The original would never hold him this affectionately—no one would. But the sensation of such a gesture crawled over his skin and tugged at his heart, leaving the dragon aching for more.

“Wrathion.” The voice repeated once again, sounding almost desperate. 

His voice on the other’s tongue was too delicious to ignore. The representation was out-of-character, but it fit the scenery perfectly. 

“Please tell me this is no dream.” He sighed, burrowing deeper into the other’s embrace. In the back of his mind, the dragon knew this was a delusion, but he allowed himself to enjoy it while it remained pleasant.

“I would be lying,” The other whispered softly, delicately stroking the silky dark curls. “I could never lie to you.” The dragon could hear a smile in the other’s words. It was pleasant, far too pleasant. 

The dragon squeezed his eyes tighter, flinching; waiting for the dream to turn, waiting for the decimation of Azeroth and her people to replay, a jeer at his likelihood to fail the world. The dream refused to turn while he was prepared, it seemed. The longer the Black Prince anticipated the torment, the longer it was delayed.  
  


“But this is a dream, my dear; a very good dream. Enjoy it while I am here with you.” The gentle hand moved from the top of his head to the side, now caressing his cheek. Wrathion turned into the touch, opening his eyes to the welcome sight of the Priest’s smile.

Wrathion smiled back, feeling relaxed, feeling Anduin’s Light seeping into him. In his mind, reality screamed at him to remember the truth, but the cries grew fainter as he lost himself in each passing moment of the dream. He looked around, feeling an uncommon sereneness from their surroundings.

After a moment, they changed their positions. He now lay on a sea of jade-green grass, his head in Anduin’s lap, and Anduin sat leaning against a flowering tree which offered sweet, natural odors. In the distance, he saw clouds spiraling around mountains in the opal-like sky. A swift breeze swirled around the pair, carrying nothing but familiarity. 

The dream presented a time, one just before the stresses of Azeroth were fully shared with the young dragon. It was a pleasant escape from glimpses of the waking city, and the many orange eyes of the Corruptor.

Wrathion’s eyes closed again, his mind still seeing the beautiful Pandarian landscape. He heard Anduin humming a lullaby above him, and felt the King’s fingers combing through his hair once again.

“It is serene here.” The King stated after a long period of silence, nearly shattering Wrathion’s peace. “I can easily picture the exact room we used to sit and play jihui and talk for hours late in the nights, remember? And all the pieces on the board—right where we left them! We should play a game or two—I haven’t forgotten how to play, you know.” He smiled down at the dragon, but this time, Wrathion didn’t return the same smile. The King didn’t seem to notice.

“But instead of _just_ in Pandaria,” Anduin’s replica continued, “it feels like we’re one million leagues away from the Keep; beyond the reach of any suffering, and Sylvanas, and the Gods. By the Light, I feel so free _._ ”

Wrathion curled himself into a smaller form, trying to make as much contact with the king as he could. He felt himself growing addicted to Anduin’s presence, nearly purring aloud. He saddened, suddenly realizing this presentation could never be his reality.

“I know you’re not really here, Anduin,” He said, opening his eyes. Next to him on the grass lay the Alliance King, looking back at him with adoration. An emotion unlikely ever to be directed at the Black Prince. “But I wish this would never end,” the Prince continued. “I wish I could stay here forever,” He shifted so his body faced The King’s. “And I wish I had never left you.” 

The Priest smiled sadly, reaching for Wrathion’s hand. “I promise you, I am here with you in this dream. This is my dream as much as it is yours, Wrathion.”

Wrathion’s eyes snapped open, baffled by this admitting. He flinched at the contact, trying his damndest not to pull away. This truly must be N’Zoth, trying to manipulate him. How could Anduin be in his dreams, along with everything he’d wanted; especially after seemingly perpetual nights of torment directly from the mind of the Corruptor.

He looked up at Anduin, who still wore a faint smile. His blue eyes were looking outwards, seemingly staring at the distant mountains. Wrathion studied him, comparing his perfection to his memory of the true king. This presentation of Anduin had such a likeness to the real king, it made the dragon uneasy. 

Repetitively scanning over the duplicate’s face, he tried finding at least one mistake; just one imperfection to remind him that this wasn’t, and never would be real. After looking him over several times, the dragon was still unable to find the betraying feature.

“How do you know that?” Wrathion questioned, suspicion at its peak. He sat up from the King’s lap, distancing himself in order to observe any and all actions. The thought of N’Zoth’s manipulations began to overwhelm him. He abruptly got to his feet, taking a step back from the Priest “How do you know it’s really me before you?”

The Anduin before him frowned. Gods, even the frown was a perfect duplicate. He stood as well, presenting a heart-broken face to the Black Dragon. The pain in the blue eyes reminded him too much of their final encounter in Pandaria, and of their most recent encounter in Stormwind.

Wrathion stared through the eyes of the King’s replica as they now both stood in silence. If this truly was Anduin, why would the Priest dream of him? Nothing such as this had happened before, so why now, when the doom of Azeroth was fast approaching.

“You’re not here.” The dragon whispered, seeing his own red eyes within the King’s blue.

The King’s eyes widened as he reached for the dragon. “Wrathion no, I—”

“N’Zoth.” The Black Prince interrupted, daring to say the Corruptor’s name aloud while asleep. 

Anduin’s impersonation shut his mouth. His pale hand stopped short of once again caressing the dragon’s face. Wrathion had to suppress his desire to meet the hand halfway.

He forced himself to maintain eye contact with the impersonator, waiting for an inkling of the presence of corruption. The blue eyes only reflected the Prince’s face; the image becoming larger and clearer every passing moment: his eyes becoming a set of mirrors. Was this some cruel joke? Of course it was.

Wrathion tried to force himself awake, but to no avail. He would just have to continue to endure the Old God’s tormenting, just as he had for countless nights.

This wasn’t the first time he has had nightmares featuring Anduin Wrynn, and he was certain this would not be the last—not until N’Zoth was defeated. He was angry with himself for allowing himself to participate in the God’s twisted mental games.

The scenery of Pandaria changed, unknown to the dragon. The blue that belonged to the sky seemed to have moved into the reflective eyes of the imposter-King; making them glow like an Aspect’s eyes. Everything around the two figures was swallowed by the dark, but Wrathion felt enveloped in Anduin’s now-unnatural eyes.

The masquerader lowered his hand and removed his false frown. He smiled wickedly at the Black Dragon, stepping slowly to approach him. 

  
Wrathion was rooted to the spot, forced to wait in anticipation as N’Zoth’s puppet stood mere inches away.

**_“My, how sloppy you’ve become.”_** Anduin spoke with N’Zoth’s voice. **_“And to think that this world is left in your care. Pathetic.”_** Anduin’s form reached up to stroke Wrathion’s hair again, away from his forehead. He trailed his hand down the side of the Prince’s face, grasping his chin when the hand arrived there.

Wrathion tried to pull away from the grasp, but he still had no control over his movements. He watched as Anduin’s eyes turned from blue to purple; the same noxious purple that usually accompanied the laughter from Ny’alotha.

**_“You will submit to me, just as Neltharion did. It is only a matter of time now. Give in, young Prince, while your mind is still yours.”_ **

Wrathion watched with horror as Anduin began to _break_. He screamed, this time with his own voice, the sound terrible and heart-wrenching to hear. First his irises cracked, the visible damage spreading across his skin, dancing over scars and bruises old and new, until his entire body was covered. He shattered like a fallen chalice, his screaming ceasing as the millions of pieces hit the ground.

The memory replayed itself over and over in Wrathion’s mind: the young King reaching out to him with pleading eyes, so obviously drowning in agony. While the screams of Anduin echoed in his mind, millions of screams began singing; the wailing of all Azeroth calling out to him: Begging, crying, blaming, dying.

The dragon woke with a start. He found himself not in Pandaria nor a void of darkness, but in Valor’s Rest, surrounded by the heat of a near-barren desert instead of the arms of a High King. Anduin Wrynn was across the Great Sea, leagues away from him, but still prevalent in his mind.

Wrathion sighed, wiping his damp brow, his mind aching to return to the Priest’s arms. It was a futile wish; a chance that has diminished each day that has passed since Garrosh’s trial. He could only hope and pray that both Anduin Wrynn and himself could continue to resist the Corruptor’s temptations.

**Author's Note:**

> i should probably write about something other than wranduin...but idk when that's gonna happen... :P


End file.
